


Of All People

by thatsoundsreallyboring



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Clueless JFK, Featuring van Gogh and JFK's weird unlikely friendship, Feelings Realization, Guilt, Local Art Kid Just Wants A Pal, Local Jock Doesn’t Know The Basic Mechanics of Friendship, Local Popular Girl Gets Owned, M/M, One Shot, Small mention of Self Harm, Van Gogh can't catch a break, seriously how did they become friends?? i have no idea, very obvious crushes on both sides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoundsreallyboring/pseuds/thatsoundsreallyboring
Summary: John Kennedy and Vincent van Gogh, two students at Clone High, have an unlikely friendship. And in this unlikely friendship, Kennedy stands up for Vincent when the other students push him around- it's the least he could do for the little guy. He knows Vincent is always grateful, even if he never says so.But what happens when Vincent stands up for Kennedy?
Relationships: JFK & Cleopatra (Clone High), JFK & Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High), JFK & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), Vincent Van Gogh & Cleopatra (Clone High)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 188





	Of All People

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to 'I Wrote This Fic Because I Saw A Cute Jock/ Quiet Kid Pairing And Had To Get It Out Of My System'
> 
> this is a pretty rare and strange pairing... but I find it pretty sweet, and wanted to explore it a bit. but if you told me a month ago I would create a fic about the 35th president and freaking van gogh's relationship I wouldn't have believed you. but here we are
> 
> Btw, this isn't the most 'shippy' fic, it's mostly just about how these two manage their strange friendship. but there are still cute moments!
> 
> anyway, I really hope you readers enjoy it. This was SUPER fun to write.

The last three periods of the day drawled on aimlessly as Dr. Sullivan went on about God-knows-what to the uncomprehending teenagers that surrounded her. Clone High’s fifth period English class was moving at a snail’s pace. Vincent van Gogh, who had dutifully finished the homework but did not care to tune into the lecture, was sitting quietly at his desk at the back of the classroom. His notebook was sprawled out, and he was doodling tiny vines and blossoms in the margins. 

It had been a pretty dull school day, in his opinion- but, he supposed, a dull day was better than a bad one. 

(He’d been trying to look at the ‘bright side’ of things lately. He still wasn’t sure if it helped, but it made him _feel_ like an optimist. So there was that, at least.)

Forcing down a sigh of boredom, he glanced above the door where the clock hung. _1:31_ , it read- four more minutes until the schoolbell rang and he could head over to chemistry. He tightened his grip on his pen and went to add a few more petals on the violet he’d been working on.

“ _PSSST_! HEY, YOU! REDHEAD!”

Startled by the noise, his hand sprinted across the page, causing his pen to shoot straight through his doodles. For a split second, he mourned the loss of the day’s work until he irritably tilted his head to find whose voice was responsible- only to recoil in shock.

Cleopatra was leaning close, so close he could smell her sweet perfume. Vincent’s face unwillingly heated because, well- there was no denying she was gorgeous. Even up close, where the artist’s eye could study every flaw, she was as perfect as a statue. 

“U-um,” he stuttered, his small voice coming out a tad too high. “Yes?”

She leaned closer, her ebony hair falling prettily across her shoulders. “You’re Kennedy’s little friend, right?”

Vincent frowned. He should have seen this coming, really. What business would the most popular girl in school have with him? Still, it was annoying- at least when he’d been the _‘weird art kid’_ , he’d been known as his own person. ‘Kennedy’s little friend’ suited him even less.

“Y-yeah. We’re friends, I guess.”

Cleo smirked. “I thought so. I’d like you to give him something for me.” She reached one red-polished hand into her backpack.

Vincent’s eyes went wide when he realized just what she had pulled out.

An orange-and-white letterman jacket with the prime initials ‘JFK’ hung from her grasp. Vincent gaped at it for a moment, finally understanding what Cleo was asking of him, until she leered impossibly closer to shove the jacket into his hands. The quiet commotion caused a few bored students to angle their heads in their direction, and what they saw made them stay to watch- _just what was Cleo doing, provoking the quiet kid in the middle of class?_

Vincent hunched his shoulders. He really, _really_ did not like to be the center of attention. He couldn’t bring himself to reply, so instead, he stared at the jacket Cleo had given him. 

Cleo took advantage of his silence. “I won’t be needing THAT anymore,” she said. She’d raised her voice, just a bit, so her listeners could understand the full picture of just what was going on. “Since, you know, I’ve moved on from _him_. To someone way better. Even if he hasn’t.”

A prickle of irritation shot down his spine. He and John had just become friends when Cleo had broken up with him for the second time- and it was one of the first moments he’d seen John with an emotion that wasn’t undertoned with his jock-y pride. He’d been a mess, and he still wasn’t entirely over her. So, why was Cleo so determined to drag out his misery? Couldn’t she just let John get over the relationship in peace?

Despite his annoyance, Vincent knew he could never bring himself to argue with Cleo. “O-okay. I suppose I’ll give it to him.”

Cleo’s red lips curled into a sneer, flashing a set of clean white teeth. “Don’t _suppose_ , dork. Get it to him quick, you hear me? Maybe this jacket will help the breakup sink into his brain for good!” 

Snickers from their audience followed her words. Cleo held her head high, obviously pleased with the outward reaction, and with cold dark eyes, she stared at him, vigorously awaiting his response.

But all Vincent could do at that moment was sit at his desk. Because, on one hand, he’s shocked that he’s witnessing first-hand such stereotypical relationship drama. And on the other, he’s devastated and embarrassed and wants to disappear forever until no one remembers his name. 

And on _another_ hand, he’s pissed. 

What would John do? 

He wouldn’t take it. He would strike back. _He would want me to strike back for him._

“I’m sure it’d be quicker if you gave it to him yourself, then,” Vincent says.

Cleo narrowed her eyes. “What was that?”

“Or, maybe you can just leave John alone!” he hissed. “Don’t hurt him more than you already have!”

Gasps follow his words. The audience looks at each other in shock, but no one says a word, obviously dying to see Cleo’s reaction.

Vincent stares at her defiantly, forcing himself to not break eye contact. His hands started to tremble.

To say Cleo looked affronted would be a gross understatement; she looked _enraged_ , her pretty face contorted into a hardened frown. She opened her mouth, but before any words could come out, God decided He owed Vincent one and the schoolbell rang. 

With English class over, the audience gave Cleo and Vincent their last curious glances as they grabbed their bags and scuffed awkwardly away. Soon, they were gone- and only two still remained, sat indignantly at the back of the classroom.

For a moment, they stared at each other, both unknowing how the other would react, until the Egyptian shook her head. Vincent watched as Cleo’s face smoothed out from anger to a hauntingly neutral expression. She grabbed her backpack, snatched Kennedy’s letterman from Vincent’s hands, and sauntered out of the classroom, muttering “whatever” under her breath. 

Vincent stayed put at his desk because his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. The familiar trill of a panic attack ran through his veins. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do _anything._ He had _told off Cleopatra in front of the whole classroom_. He had just crossed a line, a line that he knew never to cross, and he- he was- he was going to-

“Vincent?” asked a low female voice. “Aren’t you going to go to the sixth period?”

His mind snapped back in an instant, and he looked up to see Dr. Sullivan standing next to his desk. “Yes ma’am,” he muttered, and without a second thought, he jumped clumsily to his feet and half-sprinted into the hallway.

With blood still rushing in his ears, he beelined for his safe place across campus (a janitor’s closet, hardly used) and tore inside, quickly shutting the door behind him and becoming covered in it’s comforting familiar darkness.

He instantly sat on the floor and wrapped himself up in his own arms, feeling the panicked tears begin to fall. He buried his face inside his coat.

Words could not explain how utterly shocked the artist was with himself. Never in his long 17 years would he have thought he was capable of... Of _whatever_ that was. Of yelling at someone right to their face! The only other time he'd stood up for himself was that Gandhi mural he'd painted at the beginning of the year. But that was _Gandhi,_ not Cleopatra, the girl who could ruin a kid's reputation with a single cold look. And it hadn't been a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing! He had planned it!

And he had done it for John Kennedy. The guy that always seemed to bring him out of his comfort zone. 

Of all people.

Vincent’s stomach flipped when he thought about his friend. He knew John would find out eventually. Everyone saw. Everyonewould talk about it. If Cleo didn’t tell, then surely the twenty other student witnesses would.

But… the thing was, he liked being friends with John. He really, really did. _He’s so… so different from what I’m used to._ He was loud and arrogant, yeah, but when you _really_ talked to him, he was considerate and funny and a good listener and so, so nice to Vincent for basically no reason. He still wasn’t completely sure if their brand-new friendship had been out of pity on John’s part, but- that didn’t matter. That was the only reason anyone would want to be friends with a guy like him. He would take what he could get. 

John had defended him countless times, but this was different, wasn’t it? When John stood up for him in front of others, people thought it was just the ‘popular kid showing pity on the unfortunate loner for some kindness points’. But now, _everyone_ would know how Vincent felt about John. They would know how.. how deeply he...

(Vincent forced those thoughts away because _no don’t.)_

With a pang, Vincent realized he wasn’t sure _at all_ how his friend was going to react to the news. Had he ruined their strange relationship? Would John be grateful that Vincent stood up against his cruel ex-girlfriend? Would he think Vincent ruined all chances he had of ever getting back together with her? Or would he just be embarrassed that Vincent was the one to do it?

 _I’m probably not going to like the answer to those questions,_ Vincent thought sadly, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. 

Another flood of tears rushed through him as he picked harshly at the scars on his wrist, and suddenly Vincent was lost in the darkness.

***

_Please don’t find me, please don’t find me, please don’t find me-_

“VIN!” shouted a familiar voice.

Vincent growled in frustration. “Shit.”

The bulky figure of JFK walked towards him, hair tall and eyes narrowed. “We gotta talk.”

Vincent swallowed nervously. He really hadn’t wanted to run into John. Even though he knew the confrontation was inevitable, a few more hours to sulk and sort his feelings out would have been nice. _My luck of the day was all used up by that schoolbell_ , he thought bitterly.

He’d hid in the closet for the entirety of sixth and seventh period until the last bell rang (there was no way he was facing the school after his little stunt) and had rushed off campus to get home before anyone could see him. But of course his plan hadn’t worked- John was stupidly determined, and if he wanted to find Vincent as soon as possible, he would.

Clearing his head of his miserable thoughts, Vincent forced himself to respond, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes. “You heard what happened, didn’t you. With me and Cleo.”

John blinked at him, expression unreadable. “Yeah, I heard.”

Vincent stayed silent.

“Look,” John began. He suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Er, uh, it was real nice that you stood up for me, but I don’t need anybody doin’ that, y’know? Especially _you_ , of all people. Not cool, man. My ole’ broad can’t hurt me! I can take care of myself, and- woah. Dude.”

Vincent was crying again. He’s crying again because he was right- he didn’t like the answer to his questions. 

He shouldn’t have expected anything different, really.

John steps forward, reaching to place a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Hey man, I didn’t mean- I didn’t-”

Vincent steps backward, away from his touch. “No, no, it’s okay,” he said, voice so quiet he wondered if he was even saying them out loud. “I’m… I’m s-sorry it was _me of all people_ who stood up f-for you.”

John’s eyes went huge. “..That came out wrong.”

Vincent shook his head. “I’ll just go.”

He walked away. Not in the direction of home, not yet- he was pretty sure he knew where his feet would carry him. Sure enough, he passed through the nearby park into the empty forest where he’d often come to paint or to be away from his parents. 

He brushed his back against a nearby tree trunk and sunk down into the brittle autumn grass. The sensation was familiar- not familiar in a _comforting_ sort of way, but familiar in the _I’ve experienced misery in this place so often it's sort of depressing_ kind of way.

John didn’t want him. He didn’t want his help or his friendship or anything he had to offer because he always messed up everyone’s lives by just being himself.

 _Especially you, of all people_ , John had said. 

He couldn’t even keep one relationship in his life right.

But that’s expected, said a small dark voice. Don’t you remember who you are? How you turned out in your last life? Don’t you, _van Gogh?_

I remember, he thought. I remember.

The cloth around his ears seemed to grow impossibly tighter.

***

“I don’t know, man. You gotta figure this one out for yourself.”

Kennedy scowled at those words. “But, Poncey, you always know what to do. Especially in these dumb emotion-y situations. Come on, gimme _something!_ ” He clutched the telephone tighter to his ear to ensure his foster dads wouldn’t eavesdrop on this embarrassingly one-sided conversation.

“Literally, I don’t know. Barely anyone even knows the guy. How am I supposed to know what to do after he throws a fit?”

“He didn’t throw a fit,” Kennedy immediately growled- only to realize what he had just said. He coughed awkwardly, hoping to cover up his sudden burst of defensiveness. “I just, uh, rubbed him the wrong way. With my response. To this whole Cleo thing. Y’know.”

He could practically hear the eye-roll Ponce was giving him on the other end of the line. “Whatever, Jack. Honestly, I don’t even know why you hang with him in the first place. You guys are like complete opposites.”

That was very true. He and Vincent may as well be the sun and the moon. 

(He mentally squinted at himself. When had he started thinking in such artsy language?)

Kennedy shrugged it off, told Ponce he had to go. After he’d hung up, he flopped on his bed and stared aimlessly at the ceiling.

To put it nicely, Kennedy was feeling very fucking confused. And that was not a familiar feeling. Not by a long shot.

He usually had everything so figured out. It was like, his whole thing! He was the extremely fit and good-looking copy of the 35th president of the United States who knew who he liked and who he didn’t like and who never needed people to stick up for him because he knew how to take care of _himself._

But the thing was, Kennedy stood up for Vincent. Very often. After they had started hanging around each other, Kennedy had noticed how poorly the other students would treat him- they wouldn’t beat him up or outwardly call him names, per se, but they would.. Stare. Whisper as he passed by. Isolate him without a second thought. 

(It made him feel guilty at first, because- well. He’d done a lot of that himself.)

So John took great pleasure in calling these actions out. Vincent appreciated it, even if he didn’t say so, and he liked giving the little guy reasons to feel safe around him. 

Because he liked Vincent. He liked him a lot. Even though he was edgy and sensitive and quiet, he was funny and smart and genuinely seemed to like Kennedy, too. 

Which was. Nice. 

But it was _supposed_ to be a one-way system. Kennedy would stick up for Vincent when he needed it, and Vincent would be silently grateful and continue to exist. Besides, people liked Kennedy- and even if they didn’t, they respected him enough to not trifle with him. 

Their unlikely friendship wasn’t supposed to be any more than that.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

So when Kennedy heard the news about how the little guy had refused to let Cleo pull one of her schemes, he’d been justifiably irritated. Because, come on! Vincent really thought he couldn’t handle a little something-something from his ex? He was a man! He didn’t need his dorky art friend vouching for him! 

Sure, maybe he’d been a little _harsh_ with the whole confrontation thing. But friends called each other out, right? That was the thing? Right?

... Why would he tell Cleo off, anyway? It was so out of character for him. 

_Why would he do that... For me?_

_Because he saw how upset I was when Cleo and I broke up_ , his mind helpfully supplied. _Because he knew that stupid jacket would have fucking broke me._

_He was just being a good friend. He cares for me. What else was he supposed to do?_

_‘I’m… I’m s-sorry it was me of all people who stood up f-for you,’_ Vincent had said. But he shouldn’t have to be sorry.

Kennedy shut his eyes as guilt overtook him. “God, I’m such a dick.”

He knew what he had to do.

***

Vincent was staring at the sunflowers he had painted on his bedroom wall.

If he gave himself credit (and he rarely did, admittedly) he knows he did a good job. The flowers were bright and vibrant, painted with the signature impressionistic style of his Clonefather. The painting had been his mom’s idea- both of them had thought something cheery on his walls would help his crummy mental health.

It definitely wasn’t helping now. 

Vincent stared at his wall, filled with joy and yellow and vibrance, and felt sad and lonely and stupid. He was too lost in his own little black hole to think of much else. 

Until he heard a tiny ‘ _clink!’_ on his window.

At first, he ignored it- he often heard those sounds from bugs bumping against the glass. But then the sound happened again, and again, and again, too many times for it to be anything but deliberate.

 _Can’t I catch a break without people throwing shit at my fuckin' window,_ Vincent thought angrily as he got to his feet and stomped over to the window to open up the blinds.

Apparently, he really couldn’t catch a break, because there, in all his glory, stood JFK, hair tall and eyes narrowed- stood in his backyard, throwing pebbles at his house. 

Vincent immediately opened the window and poked his head out. 

“YOU?” Vincent called out. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?”  
  
“OH GOOD YOU HEARD ME! I WAS WORRIED I WOULDN’T HAVE ENOUGH PEBBLES!” John called back. 

For a moment, Vincent stared at John in disbelief. He felt like his brain was probably going to explode.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE??” he asked again.

“I GOTTA TALK TO YOU, MAN.”

Vincent’s face skewed in confusion. He stayed quiet. 

“COME DOWN HERE AND MEET ME IN YOUR YARD PLEASE,” John called when it was clear Vincent was not going to respond. “LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY FEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS!!!”

For an insane moment, Vincent felt like he was going to laugh - the Boston accent made that last statement sound really goofy- until the reality of the situation sunk in. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Give me a second,” he told the crazy person who was just throwing rocks at his window. He padded out of his room and down the stairs to the spot in his backyard where John was waiting. His thoughts were running at rapid-fire (i _s he still mad does he hate me is he going to tell me we can’t be friends anymore he hates me he hates me_ ) but forces himself to not dwell on a single one.

And thus, the two of them stood outside in Vincent’s backyard. Evening had just fallen, and the autumn air had grown cold, causing both to clutch their arms closer to their chests. 

Both were clearly uncomfortable. 

John starts. “Okay, so-”

Vincent couldn’t take it anymore. “God I’m so sorry I said that to Cleo, I know how you still feel about her and I’m sorry I ruined your relationship, I understand if you d-don’t want to talk to me anymore and that’s fine, just, I know you don’t want people to know we’re like, friends or whatever, and I’m sorry-”

“Woah!” said John, holding up his arms and shaking his hands, “Woah woah woah! … WOAH!”

Vincent flinched. _I said too much._

“That's not why I came here at all, Vin! I, er, uh, came here to... I came here to…” John trailed off. 

Silence fills the air again. Vincent feels his head lower.

He can’t finish his sentence because he’s angry, says the small dark voice. He wants to feel bad for making you cry because he pities you- but he can’t bring himself to do it.

The silence is broken by a deep breath. “I came here to apologize.”

Vincent immediately perked up. “Apologize?”

“.... Yeah. You stood up for me when Cleo was just tryin’ to.. uh, you know. Put me down again. But good on you for like, helpin’ me and stuff. I guess.”

Again, silence. 

Vincent closed his eyes. He didn’t need to stand here and pretend to be happy about this forced attempt at an apology. Better if he just left before it got even more awkward, for both of their sakes. “I don’t need your pity,” he sighed and began walking away. 

“Ugh, I’m so bad at this! Please stay. Please.” 

Vincent stopped walking but did not turn around.

“Vincent, I’m not _pitying_ you. I... I really, really appreciate what you did for me, okay. I shouldn’t have been mad about it. I don’t know why I was mad, I just maybe... let my ego get the best of me. Just a little. Maybe. Look. I-I really like y- hanging out with you. I like being your friend.” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically anxious. “You’re just, uh, different from who I’m used to hanging around with?”

 _(He’s so… so different from what I’m used to_.)

Panic surged through his chest as Vincent shot back around. He marched back towards him until the two were only inches apart- he had to tilt his head up to see John’s face. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Kennedy! I told you I’m sorry I messed up! W-what else do you want me to say?!”

“You don’t have to say anything!” John cried. “Just let ME apologize!”

“But you were right! I shouldn’t have embarrassed you in front of Cleo!”

“You didn’t mean to embarrass me,” he insists. “I just took it the wrong way, I guess.”

Vincent shook his head in disbelief. _He’s wrong. He knows I messed up. He just feels pity. He doesn’t want me, he-_

“Hey,” said John, interrupting his thoughts. 

He leaned down, ever so slightly, so the pair’s faces were barely inches apart. Vincent could feel his friend’s warm breath on his face, could see his blue eyes look into his own.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel about Cleo,” John said. His voice had grown low, gentle. A shiver went down Vincent’s spin. “You were just, uh, being a good friend.”

“John,” Vincent whispered. The shift in atmosphere was incredible. How did they get from beings at each other’s throats to.. being at each other's throats so quickly?

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

Despite everything, despite every single voice in his head shouting at him that it’s too good to be true, Vincent felt a surge of hope bloom in his chest. “Are you sure it's really okay?”

“Of course it's okay. And-” he cut himself off. If Vincent didn’t know any better, he would think John was _blushing_. “I’m glad it was _you_ who defended me. Of all people.”

_Oh._

“Well,” Vincent responds quietly, “good.”

His eyes suddenly start to prick with tears and his throat thickens with emotion. He stares stupidly down at his feet. 

“Yeah,” says John.

A pause.

“I’m glad you appreciate it after all because standing up to _fucking Cleopatra_ was the most terrifying thing I have ever done in my life.”

And just like that, the two of them couldn’t stop laughing.

“You have no idea,” John says in between breaths, “How true that is. I could barely bring myself to tell her when she had something stuck in her teeth when we were together.”

Vincent snickers, covering his mouth with his hand. “I’ll bet.”

The laughter slowly dies down, and there they stood: close together in the middle of Vincent’s backyard, smiling dumbly at each other, relieved and happy with how everything had turned out, with each other’s company.

_It doesn’t feel as cold outside anymore._

Vincent bumps John’s shoulder with his (or, more like his shoulder with his chest- John really was unfairly tall). “I like being your friend too, you dumb jock.”

John grins. “I’m glad, dorky art kid. So. Are we cool?”

“We’re cool.”

They smile at each other again. 

He had been wrong. John wanted this, this weird, unlikely friendship to continue. John wanted _him._

A strange, bright feeling had begun in Vincent’s chest. It felt like sunflowers, tickling his sides and skin, growing all around his heart- sending yellow petals to his smile and pollen through his veins...

He cleared his head. He shouldn't dwell on those feelings. 

John tilted his head, silently asking if they could go inside Vincent’s house, and the artist nodded his approval. The two walked side-by-side to the front door. 

“I’ll make sure to call you when another one of my exes stirs the pot, huh?” John asked. He was still grinning. “You’ll rough ‘em up for me?”

Vincent smirks. “What, so I’m your bodyguard now?”

“Sure, you’re hired.”

“I can barely pick up a 20-pound weight!”

John shrugs, walks through the front door and up the stairs to Vincent’s room. “Er, uh, doesn’t matter. I trust ya.”

“That’s good,” Vincent said, cheeks growing pink. He couldn’t stop smiling.

_That’s good._

***

Dr. Sullivan’s fifth period English class was just as boring as it had been the day before. The teacher prattled one about God-knows-what, and the uncomprehending teenagers sat at their desks, not retaining anything.

This time, however, a few students were keeping their eyes on the back of the classroom, where the quiet art kid and the most popular girl in school sat. The gossip about their little disagreement had spread like wildfire (how could it not? Like, how often did the quiet ones actually fight back??)- and everyone wanted to make sure they didn’t miss the second phase of the battle.

But, so far, nothing. Cleo was rapping an impatient finger against her desk and Vincent was doodling lavender strands in his notebook, as per usual. 

Eventually, the schoolbell rang, and the student audience gave the back of the classroom disappointed glances as they headed over to sixth period.

Vincent went to follow them. He picked up his backpack and made his way to the door until a hand caught his elbow. He paused, already knowing who the hand belonged to, and turned around.

“Hello,” said Cleo, still holding onto his elbow.

Vincent blinked nervously. What could she possibly want from him now? “... hi.”

“How are you doing.”

“Fine... what.. what about you...?"

"Fine," Cleo snapped back.

Her pretty face had the same hauntingly neutral look as yesterday. She let go of his elbow and looked out the door- trying to see if people were watching, most likely- and when it was seemingly clear, she spoke. “I shouldn’t have called you out yesterday,” she told him bluntly. “You have nothing to do with me and Kennedy’s relationship. I shouldn’t have put you in the middle of it. So. My bad.”

It wasn’t quite an apology, but Vincent hadn’t been expecting Cleo to say anything at all, so he gave her a little smile and told her it was okay. 

(He knew she couldn’t have been all bad- John had to have liked her for a reason, after all.)

Cleo nodded. Her expression hadn’t changed, but Vincent thought he could detect just a hint of relief in her dark eyes. She went on, “and.. I hope it didn’t make Kennedy mad at you or whatever. He’s kinda weird about that stuff. I don’t wanna, like, ruin your friendship.”

“You didn’t ruin our friendship,” Vincent told her, because it was true.

“Well… great.” She smoothed out her black skirt, most likely to have something to do with her hands. “See you around then?”

“Sure,” Vincent said, feeling his nervousness slowly fade away. He was surprised Cleo had wanted to smooth the waters, and was grateful for it- he wasn’t sure how he could have lived with himself knowing he was on the other end of Cleopatra’s annoyance. And now he knew for sure he hadn’t ruined her view of John… if they ever wanted to get back together.

(Although that thought irked Vincent more than he wanted to admit.)

Their conversation over, Vincent dipped his head and began to walk away, until-

“OH, I almost forgot! Can you do me a favor? I actually really do need to give him his letterman back. Not in like, a revenge type of way. So... If you could ask him where I could drop it off, that would be nice.”

Vincent couldn’t help but snort in amusement. “I’ll ask him.”  
  
“Thanks, van Gogh,” she smiled, and walked out of the classroom, leaving him.

The situation had been wrapped up nicely, Vincent thought as he walked the school's hallways to his chemistry class. Much more nicely than how things usually played out for him.

John wanted him around and proved he wasn't hanging around him because of some guilt complex. Cleo would leave her ex alone (for the time being, at least). And Vincent, Vincent knew he had a loyal friend by his side.

The sunflower’s Vincent had felt would have to wait. Right now, in this moment, Vincent was content with what they had: and that was enough.

 _I’m glad it was you who defended me. Of all people,_ John had said.

Vincent smiled. Maybe everything would be alright. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it... they worked out their feelings :) hope you guys enjoyed it! have a WONDERFUL day


End file.
